


Take the Day

by FruHallbera



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Kylux Titleception, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruHallbera/pseuds/FruHallbera
Summary: As first meetings go, this is not the most romantic or the cutest of the bunch but it certainly is memorable.





	Take the Day

This was a bad idea, Hux thinks, suppressing his instinct to wince when he shifts the ice pack over his left eyebrow. An awful, horrible idea. Doomed to fail the second it was conceived in the unfathomable mind of the merciless Scythian warrior born in the wrong century known to her nearest and dearest as Phasma. Or maybe she is a reincarnated Roman gladiator, fated to stalk the earth in search of fresh victims until her horrible lust for blood is finally sated. Hux shoots a glare at her, sitting completely unconcerned on a rickety chair and reading the graffiti on the walls. They are cooped up in a small, sticky backstage room of an equally small and exceedingly sticky rock club. It certainly looks the part, at least in Hux’s extremely limited experience in the rock’n’roll lifestyle. All mismatched, worn down furniture and shoddy paintwork in nondescript grayish brown, visible only in patches underneath the ancient, peeling band posters and badly made graffiti. The only thing Hux feels is out of place is the half-eaten salad amongst the empty beer cans and fast food containers littering all available surfaces.

Hux can spot at least five misspelled words and grammatical errors from where he’s sitting. Even with one eye closed.

If it hadn’t been for Phasma and her insistence of Hux needing to “ _wind down_ ” and “ _have a good time instead of impersonating a fucking dementor,”_ he’d be at home with his craft beers and his cat and possibly his Grindr. Certainly not suffering from the consequences of an ill-timed stage dive by a monster giant of a man who at least has the decency to look suitably remorseful. He hovers on the edge of Hux’s periphery fiddling with the hem of his frankly too tight tank top displaying an unintelligible band logo. K.O.R. or some other silly abbreviation of an equally silly band name.

The ice pack begins to drip, and no wonder, it’s only some ice cubes in a plastic bag wrapped in a fraying tea towel. Hux’s fingers are getting numb from the cold. His ribs ache, and there’s definitely something wrong with his right wrist. The palm of that hand is scratched and bruised from taking the full weight of both Hux and the enormous bulk of the man who tried but couldn’t fly. Hux defies the throbbing pain and tilts his head just enough to take a good look at the brute. He’s such a specimen that in other circumstances Hux would be putting on his best game to secure his company for the night. All strong, long limbs and bulging muscles and smoldering looks. Hux feels dizzy trying to include all of him in one glimpse and slowly turns to face the wall, swallowing against the rising nausea.

A thought occurs to him, that if Phasma is a gladiator, then this man must be the beast sent to fight her.

Which one would win is anyone’s guess. Maybe their fight would be the mythical battle to destruction, heralding the end of the world, c’mon, she’s _blonde_ and he’s got _black hair_ , the epic battle ending only when the sun is eaten by the giant wolf and –

Right. The blow to his head might be more severe than he thought and a visit to a hospital is required after all.

And in any case, if this was ancient Rome Hux would be the glorious emperor, the entire world prone at his feet, and no barbarian hordes disguised as punk bands or badly planned endings of the world would be allowed.

Fuck.

Hux focuses to the present.

“You all right?” The giant – Hux struggles _not_ to think about him wearing only loincloth and leather sandals, skin glistening with oil and sweat – is clearly worried. He steps closer and bends at the waist to look into Hux’s eyes. Hux can feel his breath ghosting over his cheek and something in his very core _shivers_ with a sudden and urgent need. He swallows hard and can’t help but notice how the man’s eyes widen and his breath hitches minutely at the movement of his adam’s apple. He bites his bottom lip (and this time it’s Hux who can’t tear his eyes away) and hazel eyes dart this way and that as if the man is searching for something.

 “Shit, your hand. Um. Maybe I can – “

Hux’s wrist disappears entirely in the beefcake’s grip. He goes completely still, stares fixedly at his own hand and then uncurls it finger by finger, carefully, like a man who has seen too many precious things shatter under his massive paws. “Um. Shit. Sorry.”

Somewhere in the distance Phasma snorts. She leaves the room with a remark that Hux seems perfectly well taken care of and she’d better go and check that the cute little slip of a man she spotted earlier is still waiting for her as ordered. The door closes with a bang, jolting both Hux and the dive artist from their impromptu reverie. Hux blinks and straightens his back. He removes the now half-melted ice pack from his face and toys with it, all of a sudden not knowing how to proceed. This is uncharted territory for him. Usually he knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid of taking it but, well, _damn_ , this man is something else altogether. Hux just can’t stop staring at him. It’s getting embarrassing. Silence fills the room, not even the muffled _thump thump thump_ of bass from the stage downstairs is enough to make it less awkward.

“I can take that. Let me – “The man comes close again, hand extended.

“Right. Sure,” Hux tells his impressive bicep, relinquishing the wet bundle slowly. He frowns at himself, irritated, he’s not a child being asked to give up his security blanket. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Oh. Kylo. I’m Kylo.”

“Hux,” he informs Kylo’s abdomen. Kylo turns away to throw the ice pack into the bin, dries his wet fingers by running them through his hair and Hux is grateful for that distraction because now he can ogle at the dark tresses as much as he wants to. His gaze travels down the wide shoulders and the tapering waistline and he just about to manages to stop the sigh from emerging when he imagines sliding his hand under the tank top, feeling the heat of Kylo’s skin under his perpetually cold fingers. He blinks and takes a moment to appreciate the fine pair of buttocks beautifully framed by the chains dangling from Kylo’s black leather belt.

Kylo turns around and Hux, with as much nonchalance as he can muster, pretends he has been examining the horrible attempt at a limerick on the wall behind him. Kylo grabs the chair Phasma occupied moments ago, drags it in front of Hux and sits down. He knits his brows and twitches his mouth and can’t seem to focus his eyes on one spot. “That looks nasty,” he says gesturing in the general direction of Hux’s forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Hux finds himself speaking to Kylo’s fingers as they are weaving in the air at about the level of his face. Until they are not. “It doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” is said with fake confidence to the bunched-up denim covering Kylo’s crotch. Hux blushes and yanks his head up so fast stars appear in his eyes and the room spins around him. Strong, warm hands on his shoulders stop the nauseating movement and after a while Hux dares to pry his eyes open. His vision is filled with a large nose and a pair of concerned brown eyes and somehow that manages to ground him. He returns to his body and relaxes minutely.

“Shit! Man, are you OK?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Hux doesn’t dare to nod in case the nausea returns. He wishes Kylo wouldn’t remove his hands but of course he does just that, right after he almost runs his thumb over Hux’s collarbone and blushes hard. His fingers leave a lingering warmth on Hux’s skin and Hux is instantly addicted to it, craving for more. The rational part of his brain screams at him to stop, drop and roll. To get out before the fire spreads and becomes uncontrollable. The rest of him leans forward chasing Kylo’s touch.

“You went all pale,” Kylo says, eyes not leaving the crook of Hux’s neck. “Scared me there.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“I doubt that. You don’t look like you’re fine. I’ll go and see if I can find that friend of yours.” Kylo rises and now his pelvis is right in front of Hux’s face and he can’t avoid looking at it, really looking, trying to guess the shape of Kylo’s body beneath the artfully worn and torn fabric. Hux’s nostrils flare as he instinctively attempts to draw in the scent of Kylo’s sweat and musk, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off the massive body. His head spins again.

“Okay.” Hux’s voice is a pitiful squeak and he fights his instinct to palm Kylo’s buttocks, knead and bruise them and then pull him close enough for Hux to bury his face in his crotch. He slides his hands underneath his own arse, hissing in pain as his injured wrist twists too far. He can see Kylo’s belly expanding as the man draws a deep breath and the buttonholes where his zip ought to be seem to distort and stretch minutely, the buttons shifting to the side. He withdraws abruptly and bolts from the room.

“ _Jesus fuck_.” Hux heaves a big, stuttering sigh when he’s alone. All he wants to do is to bend Kylo over the nearest flat surface and _devour_ him. Bite and lick and squeeze the frankly obscene pecs, pin him down and fuck him until they both are unable to do anything but weep from sheer exhaustion and dehydration. He wants to mark Kylo’s body with his teeth and nails, declare him unavailable for anyone else, he just _wants_ on such a primal level it shouldn’t even be possible at the current stage of human evolution.

He buries his face gingerly in his hands and groans. It must be the head trauma. It has to be. Hux is well above these disruptions to his routine and his perfectly ordered life. Ever since the liberating moment when he watched his father being lowered into the ground, he has not allowed any sort of chaos and disorder to infiltrate his immediate surroundings.

He will go to see a doctor, and then home, and put this evening behind him for good.

Kylo returns with Phasma. She’s already on the phone, ordering a taxi to take them to the nearest hospital. Hux is grateful that it’s her who ducks under his arm and helps him up. Hux leans on her more heavily than necessary, once again awed by her sheer strength, and not a little bit grateful that this way he can hide his bodily reaction to the image of Kylo’s tightening jeans playing in his mind in a horrible loop.

***

“It’s because you owe me,” Phasma tells him two days later over the brim of her large cinnamon latte. “I had to abandon perfectly good plans with that young man. I didn’t even have enough time to get his phone number.”

Hux glares at her and fiddles with the bandage covering his right wrist. It is sprained, and he sports a rather impressive shiner which has made work awkward but also people warier of him, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. He sips his tea and attempts to subdue the loud racket of the lunchtime rush with the power of his sneer alone. The noises hurt his head and the lights sting his eyes and he cannot fathom why Phasma would be so cruel as to drag him from his comfortable and quiet office into this hellhole. She has to be a herald of the apocalypse. Death, War, Famine, Pestilence and Phasma, the captain of the team.

“Oh. Shit. Hello.”

Hux raises his eyes to the biceps talking to him. They are snug in black t-shirt sleeves, the fabric doing an admirable job of holding up under the strain of those massive muscles.

“Oh. Hi. It’s you,” Hux says to the right arm, absolutely not wanting to try if it feels just as solid as it looks. He frowns in annoyance and forces his gaze upwards. He drums his fingers against his teacup and runs his forefinger along the handle. Kylo, Hux remembers his name after a small blackout when he witnesses teeth biting into a sumptuous lower lip and his throat working as the dark brown eyes follow the route of Hux’s finger along the rim of his cup. Hux does it again and Kylo visibly shudders.

The last couple of days have been – educational, to say the least. Hux has had concentrate hard not to succumb to playing the entire rock club scene in his head again and again. He’s tried to convince himself that he doesn’t want this, any of it, the distraction and the desire and the inability to focus on simple tasks. All because of a man, an ordinary, flesh and blood man. It shouldn’t affect him like this. Hux has spent half his life training that particular response out of his system and there is no reason to start acting on it now.

And yet he keeps catching himself staring vacantly at his laptop screen, fingers idle on the keyboard and the image of Kylo running his hand through his hair on repeat in his mind. No amount of narrow-eyed focus has been enough to banish the memory of Kylo’s hands on his shoulders.

His gaze lingers on the flesh and the bone and the skin and the hair and he knows he’s lost the battle. It’s just a matter of damage control, and he hates himself for not being able to stop the thought from forming in his mind. As if he was already preparing for the inevitable heartache. Dumping the potential lover before the first hookup (and maybe, just maybe, he for once wishes this to become more than just a fling).

“Well, would you look at that.” Phasma’s obviously fake chipper voice bursts the bubble. She brandishes her dark and silent phone. “I really need to take this. I’ll leave you boys to it, then. Hux. Kylo.”

Hux’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. He watches his traitorous so-called friend grab her coffee and sashay her way out of the cafe and disappear into the bright sunlight. Kylo slides into her vacant seat, his hips, abdomen and chest forming an enticing flow of movement for Hux’s viewing pleasure. He nearly forgets to breathe when Kylo crumbles a piece out of his chocolate chip muffin with his huge fingers and lifts it to his mouth.

He’s not going to –

Oh _fuck_ –

He does. Hux makes an involuntary flinch forward when Kylo absently sucks a tiny bit of half-melted chocolate off his forefinger. Belatedly he comes to his senses for just enough to snap his mouth shut. He anchors himself to reality by grabbing a tighter hold of his teacup and taking a good mouthful of now lukewarm Earl Gray.

Kylo’s face scrunches in a worried scowl as he takes in Hux’s black eye and bandaged wrist. He shifts in his seat and toys with his napkin, rolling the corners and twisting it until it tears. His pulse is visible on the side of his neck and Hux is spellbound by the steady beat – at least by keeping his attention on it he won’t imagine how those surprisingly dexterous fingers would feel on him and _in_ him. Hux all but squirms to keep his body in check.

It’s frankly beyond him how an adult man, in full command of his faculties and under no medication should be so easily thrown off kilter by any such display. He has felt desire before, _attraction,_ even but never like this. He has always been in total control of his body and mind, or at least as much in control as humanly possible. This is different and Hux can’t put his finger on the reason why and it _chafes_.

He should stand up and leave. His instinct is telling him to steer clear of the danger and at the same time screaming at him to climb Kylo like a tree. It’s deeply unsettling. Hux hides his frown into his teacup until a subtle change in his immediate surroundings registers and he blinks his way back to the present.

The scowl on Kylo’s face has transformed into something half apologetic, half expectant, and Hux realizes he has said something.

“Huh?”

“I said I’m sorry. For all of – that. It looks painful.”

“Oh. It’s nothing.” It’s not _nothing_ , Hux has had to reschedule some important meetings with clients and the sprained wrist hurts something wicked if he types one word too many. He ought to demand compensation for lost time and revenue, tear Kylo a new one for daring to touch Hux at all in any way, not simper and fawn and sweat like nervous teenager.

But.

 _But_.

If he does that, he feels there is a very real risk of never seeing Kylo again. Despite his slightly awkward apologies and the way he can’t seem to focus on Hux without the tips of his ears turning crimson he has an air about him which suggests that he will not put up with any sort of unnecessary bullshit. It was clearly present when he was on stage, quivering with pent-up rage. Suddenly Hux craves to cup his jaw, force him to keep his eyes on him, bend that mountain of a man to his will.

Kylo seems to pick up on that because now there’s fire in his eyes and the set of his shoulders suggest that yes, while he might be willing to kneel before Hux he will not yield on the first command and should they embark on that road it will be a two-way street.

Well.

He could return to his normal life with its set schedules and strict routines. It would be easy. No messy emotions or useless drama, unplanned events or the risk of getting hurt. All he has to do is to let this opportunity go, withdraw and leave. Hells, he doesn’t even know Kylo’s last name.

He could go back to his comfortable existence. He contemplates this while letting his gaze wander from Kylo’s calloused hands to his wide shoulders, enjoying once more the sight of his chest and finally looking into his eyes.

A slow smile spreads on Hux’s face.

***

Hux has almost forgiven Phasma for her transgressions. It’s been two months of precisely what he feared, chaos and disorder and messy emotions. Hux has never been happier.

He emerges from his cocoon of blanket and pillows when the first beam of sunlight finds its way through a gap in the blinds to shine in his eye. He turns carefully to take in the sight of Kylo sprawled on his stomach next to him, clad only in the wealth of his hair and snoring faintly. Hux trails his finger down Kylo’s spine, careful not to wake him up just yet. This is all his, now. The toned abs and the massive pecs and the wild hair and the glorious butt, all his. And even better, the clever, wicked mind and the dark sense of humour and the quiet smiles and the dry wit, all of that belongs to Hux, too.

To think that he ever considered, however briefly, of not seizing the opportunity.

“Morning, Millie,” he whispers to the cat who has woken from her sleep and is yawning at him from her favourite spot next to Kylo’s pillow. She rises to her feet, arches almost impossibly high and jumps from the bed. Kylo stirs at the sound of her paws hitting the floor and makes soft, sleepy noises while turning over to face Hux.

Hux spreads his fingers over Kylo’s buttock and squeezes lightly. He scuttles closer for his good morning kiss and hums his approval when Kylo deepens the kiss and rolls them over, pinning Hux to the mattress with his body. Fire builds up slowly in Hux’s guts, stoked by every movement Kylo makes and all the hungry sounds he lets loose. Kylo rolls his hips at a leisurely pace, keeping Hux teetering on the edge of reason.

Kylo lifts himself up on his elbows. He looks down on Hux, an unreadable expression on his face. For a fleeting second Hux feels panicked, insecure, but then he brushes Kylo’s hair behind his ear and pulls him in for another kiss and the eager willingness with which Kylo obliges him clears his mind. Kylo pulls back to nip at Hux’s neck and collarbone, something he can’t get enough of. He sits up, straddling Hux and the sly smile on his face wipes the last remainders of doubt from Hux’s mind. He splays his hands over Hux’s belly and sides, tilts his head as he marvels how easily his palms span the admittedly slim width of Hux, and after a while moves his hands to thumb over Hux’s nipples.

“You utter _bastard_ ,” Hux manages to grit out as he twitches and whimpers under Kylo’s merciless torture. The man is well aware of how sensitive Hux’s nipples are and promptly takes every opportunity he gets to amuse himself with Hux’s reactions. He grins but bends over to lave his tongue over the swollen nubs and that feels infinitely better, forcing a moan out Hux.

Hux threads his fingers back in Kylo’s hair. He pulls lightly and cranes his head and meets Kylo at the half-way mark for a sloppy kiss. They busy themselves with that until desire becomes too much to bear and Kylo grabs Hux’s wrists and pins them by Hux’s head. He sinks his teeth in Hux’s shoulder to leave his mark of ownership and - since his own torso is covered with the evidence of Hux’s hunger – payback. He releases Hux’s hands, fumbles for the lube on the nightstand and suddenly just stops, smiles warmly, caresses Hux’s cheek and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. Whatever emotion it is that swells in Hux’s chest at that is strong enough to make his eyes water.

Kylo squeezes some lube on his fingers and reaches behind him to stroke Hux’s already straining cock. He lifts himself slightly and lines himself up. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks down maddeningly slow. He’s still slick and loose from last night, and yet so hot and tight around Hux.

Hux forces his eyes to remain open despite the swiftly growing lust. He needs to see Kylo’s face, the rapidly shifting expressions as he takes Hux all the way in and how he focuses inwards, steadies himself before starting to move again. Hux puts his hands on Kylo’s thighs, not wanting to disturb him in his task but desperate for more connection. The room is silent apart from the occasional grunt and moan from the two men and the faint creaks from the bed. At this hour even the traffic outside is nonexistent. The rising sun creates a bright line of light across Kylo’s chest and Hux can’t resist touching the illuminated skin, feeling the warmth under his fingertips.

Kylo keeps them on a steady level of pleasure until Hux feels his muscles trembling under his fingers. That’s his cue to wrap his fingers around Kylo’s cock and squeeze and stroke him. Kylo gasps, and comes, and collapses on Hux. The sight of him is so beautiful Hux wants to save every detail of it in his memory. He shifts his hands to Kylo’s sides, then down on his buttocks. He takes a firm hold, nudges until Kylo lifts some of his weight off Hux. He begins to fuck up into Kylo, slowly at first but picking up speed with every thrust, chasing his own release.

Kylo takes a hold of the headboard and steadies himself when Hux’s movements grow erratic and fast. He studies Hux’s face, eyes half lidded but keen. The sunlight hits his hair, haloes it in black and gold and red, and that too is now seared in Hux’s mind for eternity. His orgasm draws close and crests. Hux gasps and hisses, his fingers curling to pinch Kylo’s skin. He shudders, feels his heartbeat slow down gradually and his breathing evening out. He offers a slightly wobbly smile and is rewarded with a chuckle and a peck on his nose.

“Good morning,” Kylo murmurs between feather-light kisses along Hux’s jawline. He slides off Hux, settles on his side and pulls Hux to his chest.

“Good morning,” Hux says, sighs, and buries his face in the crook of Kylo’s neck. He hooks his knee over Kylo’s legs and presses as close as he can. This is the best part. He likes sex and is easily aroused, especially with Kylo, but he was truly surprised to find out how much he enjoys this particular kind of intimacy.

They lie there, tangled in each other, discussing in soft tones about their plans for the day. There’s no rush, it’s a Saturday and so far, there’s nothing more pressing on their agenda than deciding whether to cook dinner at home or making a proper date night out of it.

Their cuddling is interrupted by Millicent who jumps on the bed trilling in greeting. She walks over both of them demanding attention and breakfast. It’s Hux who relents first. He grumbles and stretches as he gets up and pads into the kitchen, Millicent trotting ahead of him her tail held high. She makes a beeline to her bowl and sits on her haunches and meows, expecting service befitting her status as the despot of the household.

“Oh, shush,” Hux says to her as he fills her bowl. “Here’s your food. Now eat.”

He scratches her back briefly and then begins with the important task of sating his need for caffeine. As he flicks the percolator on movement catches his eye. Kylo is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest and a smile playing on his lips. His hair is mussed, there’s traces of Hux’s come on his thighs and his skin is mottled with bite marks, a vision of utter perfection. He extends his hand, wiggling his fingers until Hux takes it. Kylo winks at him and starts walking them towards the shower.

It looks to be another perfect day, ready and ripe for taking.

 

 


End file.
